


Terrible Ex's and the Good Ole Baseball Bat

by MurderousMirages



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Finn tries to drug clarke, History Class, Kane is mentioned, Lincoln is mentioned, Past Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, References to Drugs, alcohol?, clarke is a bamf, frat house, mature for words and themes?, so much red bull, tbh I think she is, they argue about scooby doo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurderousMirages/pseuds/MurderousMirages
Summary: College is for things like parties, or countless hours of studying, and not for terrible ex's that harass you at frat parties.thank you to @timetoliveo1 and @notevendrugs-justawkwardlyweird on tumblr for the prompt!
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin & Raven Reyes, Octavia Blake & Clarke Griffin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 81





	Terrible Ex's and the Good Ole Baseball Bat

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to : @lovelessinthetimeofcovid (TheSatanicTwin) and @notevendrugs-justawkwardlyweird for being the most beautiful and glorious betas in the entire world. also Nora Grace for reading. 
> 
> Totally hmu on Tumblr with writing prompts @damngoodgirl I'm trying to get into the writing community, I swear I'm friendly. 
> 
> This kinda revolves around the fact that Clarke likes to study for her classes at Bellamy's frat parties because she doesn't like to be the only one at home. 
> 
> :)

In Clarke's opinion, college wouldn't be college without the parties. You don't have to participate in them for the sticky, germ-filled social gatherings to make an unrealistic impression on your college itinerary. Nonetheless she dutifully participates in the christening of her college career, though not the exact type she'd grown up with; used to waiting patiently and carefully manipulating her words to favor her mother's guests. She fits in, molding perfectly into the playful world of drinking till dawn and sly cheating on exams. 

*

Despite the occasional sugar crash; from the countless Red Bulls she drowns, Clarke wakes up at nine am every day. Her alarm doesn't ring with the cacophony of cheaply made music, mainly because she doesn't use one. She shuffles down the narrow hall of her shared apartment into the small kitchen where she balances three different mugs (all gifts from her birthday) from Houston, Texas into the sink. It isn't common for her to be drinking at parties in the middle of the year. It's weird, sure, but what's even weirder is being the only one of her friends at home on a Friday night. She usually sits in the stool closest to the corner of the kitchen wall and nurses a Red Bull and a headache. 

So her Fridays go: wake up at nine am, then somewhere in her day she has History, her most stimulating class. That would be thanks to one, Bellamy Blake. They usually walk together to the class, separating to sit on their preferred sides of the room. 

"Are you seriously going to argue with me about Scooby Doo characters?" Clarke asked, taking a sip out of her "Banned Books" mug. A favored mug of hers that she just stole back from Raven. 

"Only when you're wrong," Bellamy said from across the lecture hall. His glasses were sliding down the tip of his nose and, like Clarke, he had a mug, but with Johnny Depp on the front. 

"Shaggy has more episodes than Velma, he's the best friend of the main character. What other reason do you need?"

"Velma is the one who solves the mystery, every time without fail," Bellamy shouts, startling the people around, still half asleep.

"She doesn't, it's a group effort. She's the one that does the reveal, get it right." Clarke responds, tilting her mug for effect. She stares at him, clutching her mug harder as she sees him slowly breathe. 

"The only thing Shaggy is good at is getting high."

"It's a show for children! He never gets high!" She can feel her anger radiating, and the person sitting next to her recoils slightly. 

"It's implied!" 

"Ho-." 

Someone coughs. "Alright! Settle." 

They both turn their heads to the front of the lecture hall. "We were talking about World War One," they get a pointed stare, "before our class was derailed by stupid arguments."

Clarke stares at Professor Kane. 

"You've got forty pages to read, and a short essay on "The Effects of World War One on Nationalist Societies" due next Tuesday." Kane looks around the room. "And Shaggy is clearly better than Velma." 

"Ah ha!" Clarke shouts, pointing at Bellamy. 

"Kane!" Bellamy gasps, just as quickly as the professor responds. 

"Dismissed." 

The students shuffle out of the room, the sound of slamming books and the squeaking of the eraser against the board an outro for the two fuming hardheads. Clarke picks up her bag and books, making her way towards Bellamy. 

He's got a pencil stuck in between his lips and a notebook sprawled out on the desk in front of him. Hunched over the desk with his backpack on the chair, he barely notices her as she approaches. It was just a few minutes ago that they were yelling at each other, and now Bellamy is lost in his own headspace, underlining notes. Notes that he very well could have done before, rather than derail the class and create a new thing for Clarke to pick on him with. 

"Bell, the next time that you tell me that Velma is a better character than Shaggy I will rip your head off," Clarke whispers, sitting on the desk next to him, clearly catching his attention. 

"I speak the truth Clarke, I'm a scholar now."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Doesn't mean anything unless it's history related, or you're a philosopher." She kicks her leg out to touch his. "Trust me, right now, you are neither."

"Nah, I'm done with that lifestyle, I'm gonna settle down." He looks at her over his shoulder and winks, placing the pencil on his ear. 

She smacks him on his head.

"Come on, I’m starving." 

She jumps down from the table, shouting at Bellamy to "hurry your ass up". She tugs her coat off by the door to tie around her waist as she waits for Bellamy to catch up. It's their Friday routine. After History they eat lunch together at the small cafe across the campus and talk about random things. Usually about the plans for the night and essay outlines, but also extremely tedious things. Octaiva's lack of care for her own future has been the highlight of the last week. 

"Velma is still more relevant than Shaggy," he huffs, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as he catches up. His bomber jacket sends chills up her spine when it brushes against her. 

Clarke can feel his breath on the back of her neck. She scoffs, still appalled at his audacity. Her backpack shifts on her shoulder as Bellamy pulls away to open the doors to the lecture hall. She can feel the heat surrounding the building from her spot, even though she’s far from the front doors. Students around her are wearing tube tops and sweatshirts; mostly Freshmen still holding out hope for their free will. Clarke pulls out her water bottle, prepared to be bombarded with the heat of "almost" summer. 

"What's your thesis?"

"Probably something along the lines of, World War One was not good for Nationalism ."

"Geez Clarke, genius," he rolls his eyes, narrowly avoiding contact with a girl on a scooter. 

"I have a thesis, I just don't want you to take it." 

"I have my own brain to think for me."

"Seems unlikely." Bellamy shoves her and she grins, letting the conversation flow into shitty roommates. 

It carries them until they reach the cafe, buzzing with the energy of caffeinated teens and empty Coke cans strewn across the tables. The cafe is bigger than most of the on-campus restaurants, plus it has tasteful decor and quality paninis. Bellamy takes their usual booth pushed up against the windows while Clarke goes to order, holding their mugs. The line moves fast, taking her to the front quickly to smile politely at Niylah. 

"Hey Clarke," Niylah smiles back, already putting orders in for two black teas. 

"Hey, uh, could I get the tomato and basil, and you already know Bellamy's." 

"Got it." She presses a few more buttons, already taking both mugs and Clarke's card. 

She moves over to the waiting area, wedging herself in between a guy with a Ripstik and another with a pink shoe, tapping her foot when the Ripstik guy eyes her up smoothly. 

"Clarke!" Niylah shouts.

She shuffles through the crowd of people, depositing packets of sugars into her back pocket as Niylah grabs more napkins.

"Thanks."

"Clarke," Niylah says, just as she turns around. Clarke nods her head when she finds her balance. "Finn was asking about you." 

"When?"

"Two days ago, said he really wanted to talk. I told him I hadn't seen you of course, but he seemed out of it. Stalker-ish."

"Oh, thank you. Pour some hot water on him next time you see him." Niylah cackles as Clarke walks away. 

Carefully Clarke walks over to their table, placing their cups down and sliding into her side. Bellamy pours some sugar into one and takes a sip while Clarke delicately nips at her sandwich. 

"What was that about?" he asks, putting his cup down to look at her. 

"Finn came around here looking for me."

His jaw clenches. "I'll punch him next time." 

"Only if I'm too slow." 

*

"Clarke! Hurry up!" Octavia shouts from the hall, the heavy sound of her Air Force’s pacing back and forth in the kitchen accompanies her impatience. "Clarke, if we don't leave soon-"

"Yeah I have to find my Biology notes," she shouts back, searching under overturned shoes and in her desk drawers. "Got it!" 

She quickly shoves the blue and yellow highlighted papers into her bag, double knotting her Jordans.

"Clarke!" 

"I'm ready!" she says, sliding into the little bubble that Octavia and Raven have formed while waiting. 

"We were about to leave you," Raven says, slipping her phone into her jeans, oil stained arms crossing in front of her chest.

"The party doesn't start for another hour." 

"It takes us twenty minutes to get there, and I wanna get all the Mango White Claws before all the sorority girls take them," Octavia says. "And Lincoln is coming." 

"We should probably get takeout on the way." 

"Nah, it's gonna get trashed." 

"Yeah but, food," Raven whines. "Come on. Hey Clarke, I'll race you to the car," she says, winking at the blonde. 

"Oh are you sure? I ran track for a reason." 

"Bet." 

Raven takes off, fumbling for the door knob, shouting behind her, "Don't forget your bag!" 

*

The frat house that Bellamy and his gang of teenagers run, is poorly lit, mainly thanks to the exclusive use of plain white fairy lights that light up the front room and the kitchen. Clarke shoves her way past the oncoming of people and into the hall where she can see movement in the back of the house, where the door to the yard is left ajar. She shifts the weight of her bag and stumbles into the yard where people are already dancing with the music flowing from the house. 

"Bellamy? Your sister is looking for you, Lincoln is here." She points back at the house, hoping that he can hear her. 

"Hey Clarke! Here, I saved you one of the last ones," Bellamy smiles, coming through the crowd with a Red Bull in his right hand and a beer in the other. His hair flops over. "I made some room for you to study in the kitchen." 

"I saw, thanks,” she smiles softly up at him. Hoping that he saved her one of the less sticky sections of the kitchen counter. The fomo is too real for her to stay at home, while all her friends are drinking god knows what, with possible psychos. 

"I'll walk in with you, Octavia is probably going insane."

"She was pretty chill actually, no death threats." 

Bellamy laughs, "Unexpected but Lincoln does that."

Clarke nods, moving into the kitchen, parting when Bellamy finds his sister. Her nerves are on fire. Something feels wrong. The hair on her neck stands up when she puts her airpods in, turning the station to random on her computer, trying to focus. Ramping the volume up over the loud music, and flipping through her history notes, she compiles what she needs to finally write her essay. But her nails still tap against the counter, taking a sip out of her Red Bull knowing it won't calm her nerves. 

Her brain won't stop reading over stupid Mississippi and the Armenian genocide, because every state but Mississippi acknowledges it and the United States government doesn't. ‘What kind of a shit world is this now, where money is far more important than the lives of human beings,’ she types, sipping her Red Bull with her left hand. Seriously, sickos. 

‘Does it not matter that this is a perfect example of the United States' relationship with the Middle East, and that profit in every profile is more important than humanity. ‘

She feels a hand on her shoulder, cutting her off in the middle of mouthing her next sentence as she types. 

"Finn?" 

"Hey Clarke-" the boy flashes a sheepish grin, one hand in his pocket. 

"What are you doing here?" She shrugs his hand off her shoulder, pulling back. 

"It's a party," he gestures with the hand that’s holding his cup of whatever, like a child with a sippy cup. 

"Open only by invitation," she lies through her teeth, suppressing the urge to deck him. 

"We both know that's not true," he smiles. Yeah open to everybody but you Finn. Take the hint. 

"So, what are you doing here?" she questions, gaze turning hard. 

"I just wanna say cheers to staying friends."

"No thanks." Clarke makes the move to put her earphone back. 

"Come on Clarke," Finn pulls out the stool next to her. "Just raise your drink." 

She wants to turn around, keep her back to him until he leaves and takes the chill he gives her with him. 

"Fine," She pulls her drink out, "Cheers Finn." and knocks her glass with his. 

Finn takes a sip of his drink, grinning underneath like a child, so Clarke pulls her drink closer, slower. 

"Clarke!" She stops, thankful for the excuse to not listen to Finn. She looks up at Bellamy. "Hey so, put that drink down." He crowds up behind Finn.

She raises her brow. 

"I'm pretty sure he drugged it." 

"Pretty sure?" It seems like the party has stopped and people are pausing their conversations to look at the trio. 

"I saw him put something in it. I swear Clarke, I didn't think it was anything, but come on." He points to Finn. "Something's wrong."

Her face is stoic, how fucking dare he, "Alright, empty your pockets." 

"Don't make me do it for you," Bellamy huffs. 

"Fine! Fuck." A wallet, phone, keys, gum wrappers. 

"All of it, inside out." A clear packet with white powder, though it's small enough to fit in her palm, too little of the powder is left. What the actual fuck. 

"Motherfucker, you have three seconds before I get the bat," Bellamy growls. 

"One." 

Finn grabs his phone. 

"Two." 

"Fuck it Bell, just get it." Clarke stands up, making her way to the stairs where she knows the bat stays, leaning against the top of the railing. People are looking, holding their own drinks close. In the corner of her eye she can see Raven. 

"Three." 

Finn sprints out the door. 

"Get the bat Clarke, I'm gonna get this fucker."


End file.
